


Breath

by Razer_Athane



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Mass Effect 1, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3, Post-Mass Effect 1, Pre-Mass Effect 1, Romance, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27074038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razer_Athane/pseuds/Razer_Athane
Summary: She is older and still wide-eyed, with a river of red hair and the stars in her eyes. And there are oceans in his irises, and blue nebulas streaked across his face.[Shakarian vignettes, threeshot]
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Comments: 20
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> Author’s Note: I’ve had this idea for months, but work got _super busy_ , so I tinkered with this during my lunch breaks for ages until it was (finally) done. Had fun with this, hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His steadfast demeanour gives her more courage than she expects.

“Just breathe.”

On Mindoir, a child runs her tongue over her teeth; she balks at both the hot water dripping down her cheeks, and the burning sting on her knee.

“Just breathe, you’ll be alright. Can you remember something for me?”

She turns her head to the voice she knows best, her Mother towering over her, the sun roaring behind her form. She kneels so she isn’t as tall; the child nods a little.

“Whenever you feel like you are going to cry, just breathe. Like this.”

She watches: breathe in for four seconds, hold for six seconds, breathe out for eight seconds. She mimics her Mother, as little girls do, until the burning sting isn’t as bad anymore, until she can deal with it.

She is young and wide-eyed, with a river of red hair and the stars in her eyes.

“Just breathe.”

* * *

Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe._

She guards the oxygen, keeping it close to her chest, counting the seconds for each inhale, hold, and exhale that leaves her lungs. Just like her Mother told her to.

_Mum._

The sight of her with an open bullet wound in the skull is enough to make her want to vomit, but she has to hide and keep quiet. The memory of the screams of her family, each gunshot wounding her soul more than the last. But she hid from the raiders, _the slavers;_ she ran and skulked behind corners, and hides now in a pile of boxes near a trash pile.

She consciously keeps her breaths as soft as possible, but she counts every single one. In for four, hold for six, out for eight.

She hides while others die.

“Take this one for processing,” a Batarian hisses. She hears a man begging for mercy, when the Batarians have none; his feet scraping along the ground, until they too fade from her hearing.

She hides while others die, because she must survive. She must push on. She must live the lives they wanted her to live. She must carry the name and hopes and dreams of those she’s lost to the raiders. She must. _I will._

More gunfire rips through the area. Batarian curses and shouts fill her ears, until she hears accents she’s more familiar with. One that demands this area is secured and searched thoroughly. One that growls their hatred for what has happened here. One that gives her hope, but doesn’t yet give her permission to grieve.

At least, not until three soldiers rustle around her boxes and throw them off.

One holds his rifle straight at her, and her hands stay up and open-palmed. The other two stop and stare, as though they found a rarity. And she supposes they have. She supposes they’ve seen worse done to the colonists, to those who chose to run rather than hide. Those she grew up with and knew; those that only survived now in her memories.

But after this, she will never hide again. She _won’t._ She will fight.

The Alliance marine asks, “What’s your name?”

“Shepard.”

Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe._

* * *

_Remember to breathe._

A torrent of Batarians burst beyond the defences she worked so hard to keep.

Shepard clips one on the left side, right in between the upper and lower eye. A small part of her flickers with satisfaction, as though with every shot the lost of Mindoir are given some justice. She tosses a grenade overhead, deep into the thick of them, and takes hurried steps backwards, shooting another, and another.

Sky-blue eyes scan the Elysium sky, the Skyllian Verge and beyond. The Alliance saved her from them once before.

No one but Shepard can save herself nowadays.

The colonists are scared. She doesn’t blame them. She’s young and has already seen the worst of the Batarians. She understands their fear.

She shouts, “Get out of here, I’ll hold them off! I’ll radio for help!”

Most obey her command. Some stay with her, shooting at one Batarian and then the other. Some hit, others miss; but they fall like bricks beside her, until there are so few left.

Again her voice roars above the gunfire, “Go! You have lives to live! Run and remember to breathe!”

They finally listen, realising what they could lose as they try to help defend their home. But that is not their job – that’s Shepard’s. And she will do what she can, as she always will. They run, and some still fall. She stands in the way of the next assault, the bullets sinking into her barrier as hers spits fire across the open gap.

She doesn’t know this will be remembered. She doesn’t know this is a day that will mark her in the memory of the Alliance, that she will be seen as a hero. She doesn’t know there is a Star of Terra in her future. She just wants to survive – she just wants the civilians to survive.

And so she screams, “ _Go!_ Remember to breathe!”

* * *

_Breathe._

She holds it.

She stands with other hopefuls, not a toe or hair out of line.

Anderson paces in front of dozens. The best of the best came when called, and they were greeted by a mechanical might, the greatest technological sight they’d see in their lifetime. A testament to the work of two civilisations – old and new, foreign and familiar, turian and human.

“We still have the shakedown run. For a vessel like this, I need a top-of-the-line crew,” Anderson states.

Working to heal the hurts, strength through solidarity.

Shepard doesn’t know where she stands in the Alliance. Very good, sure. Best of the best? She’s not sure, she doesn’t know if she should really be standing here. If she deserves that kind of belief. But she doesn’t know if that’s the youthful doubt of a scarred child seeping through.

“For the SSV Normandy, my XO shall be…”

She keeps holding it.

“Jane Shepard.”

She lets it go.

_Breathe._

* * *

“Easy as breathing.”

Shepard looks at her new squadmate.

She feels strange. She never expected to find a Prothean artefact and get visions, and yet here she is. She never expected Anderson to make her Commander not long after the shakedown run, and yet here she is. She never expected to have non-humans on her crew – and yet, here she is.

Talking to the turian they just picked up from the Citadel, along with dossiers and a clear mission to stop Saren.

“Did C-Sec even have a real need for snipers?” Shepard asks, closing her equipment locker.

Garrus chuckles, beside her, a mandible flicking in what looks like amusement, “Well Commander, as I’m sure you noticed, I know how to handle _any_ gun, _and_ make it dance.”

Shepard snorts. Sometimes she feels like she can’t socialise well with people, given her past experience, but she appreciates that she can talk with Garrus at least. That they seem to have an understanding of each other, no matter how sarcastic they get. “You’re such a good shot.”

“You’re flattering me.”

“No, I mean it. Sniper rifles aren’t my forte.”

“You just breathe, Shepard. Breathe with the gun.”

“Do you know how weird that sounds?”

He shrugs, closing his own locker, and spins on his heel to leave, “Try it next time we’re on the field.”

She watches him leave, ignoring Joker’s voice bursting onto the scene from above, and wonders how much his advice might help. When she’d get to try it, if at all. But the galaxy has been changing as of late – trying a sniper rifle again might just be another. She hums to herself after he leaves.

“Easy as breathing, huh?”

* * *

Slow, deep breaths.

Although she defeated the memory on Elysium, Mindoir never really stops haunting Shepard. So she must breathe, slow and deep.

She replies over the comms, “You mean she was taken in the raid that killed my parents.”

Her voice is so flat now, devoid when she thinks of Mum and her family, and it frightens her just a little bit – that she has become _that_ detached. That she’s distanced her emotions that far from herself. Standing in the Citadel, after finishing the mission on Feros, Lieutenant Girard asks for her help with more emotion than she’s had in years.

She doesn’t mistake the soft gasp from her colleagues – the human biotic and the turian.

They march to the docks as silently and swiftly as ghosts. Shepard trusts her squad, and appreciates Kaidan’s quiet company and Garrus’ willingness to listen without judgement. But this is something she has to do alone, for the memory of a young, wide-eyed girl, with a river of red hair and the stars in her eyes.

That child was lost, buried under years of trauma; she hopes she can pull this one out of such a dark place.

Shepard listens to Lieutenant Girard’s briefing, holds the sedative tightly in her hand, and casts one last look at her squadmates. Kaidan’s expression is easy to read – surprised by the fact about her parents, though saddened she came from that. Garrus is harder to decipher, because she is not used to how turians express themselves; he just stands, watches, and gives her the smallest nod.

His steadfast demeanour gives her more courage than she expects.

Shepard walks across the docks and finds the survivor, hair shorn down and a gun pointing straight at her. Talitha, with wet eyes and wild breathing, erratic and trembling. Just like her Mother had been moments before her death; and she remembers it here, now, under Mindoir’s ghost.

So deliberately, she takes slow, deep breaths.

* * *

Breathe in for four, hold for six, out for eight.

From across the room, Matriarch Benezia speaks, “You’ve always made me proud, Liara.”

Shepard cages a flinch at that.

Shepard glances at Garrus, laser-focused, not a single emotion flashing across his face for Liara. She would be that way too, if it weren’t for the memory of Mindoir, of her last moments with her own Mother. Her humanity wins for the briefest moment, because she’s seen this too many times in her own life, stirring the emotions she still fights to keep buried and distanced.

It reminds her of Batarians and screams and _Mum._

Breathe in for four seconds, hold for six seconds, breathe out for eight seconds.

And then Matriarch Benezia’s voice changes, “Die.”

Shepard’s combat moves are automatic. Take cover, peek around the corner, raise gun, fire, punch an asari commando. But it feels like now, more than ever, that she can’t breathe.

Every shot reminds her of her Mum. Reminds her that she’s not here and was gunned down and taken away, and she has to do _the same thing_ to Liara. She doesn’t know how Liara maintains composure – if she had to point her own gun at her Mum that day, she… she doesn’t know what she would’ve done.

But it’s over fast, and then, “Good night, Little Wing. I will see you again with the dawn.”

Liara’s breath hitches. Shepard glances at Garrus again, seeking that source of silent strength she found when standing before Talintha; one that she wants again now. That she didn’t know she wanted to begin with.

Matriarch Benezia chokes, “No light? They always said there would be – ah…”

Breathe in for four, hold for six, out for eight.

* * *

_Keep breathing…_

Shepard cannot take in her surroundings.

In this very moment, she cannot accept her life’s most recent purpose, Saren, has disintegrated. That Sovereign has been beaten on the Citadel, lying broken around her. No, she has to face her current reality – climbing out of the rubble. Finding her squadmates. Surviving.

Her legs ache, and she’s certain her arm is broken. She’s too cramped to get her medigel anywhere near where she needs it. Navigating through the mess is hell enough as it is. But Shepard must survive.

From the moment she was born, through the Batarians and the Blitz, into the bombs and the bastards, Shepard must survive.

She must survive for her Mother and family, who would never breathe again, so every one of hers _must count_ for them. For Ashley, who could no longer smile. For Anderson, who’d been through so much. For Kaidan, who endures everything thrown at him. Liara, who never wavers. Tali, desperate to prove her worth. Wrex, indifferent with embers of hope. And Garrus, determined to make a difference.

The Commander spits up blood and drags herself upward, skyward, her muscles screaming when she stands, begging for relief – but she is too focused on getting to the end. Because at the end, she can heal her wounds. Because at the end, she can see her squad. Because at the end, she can relax for a moment.

There will be no rest for Shepard once this chapter closes, but she’d like to think there might be.

She hears Anderson’s voice. Her breath gets caught in her throat. She picks up the pace, limping through the wreckage, catching a glimpse of movement up ahead. She dashes forward, injured arm held close to her stomach, and ascends a small pile of rubble in the middle of a clearing, so she can see where they are.

She erupts from the wreckage like sunlight from storm clouds, and she allows herself this moment of silence to inhale deeply.

And she sees them. Anderson and Liara and Garrus. And she smiles.

_Keep breathing._

* * *

_Can’t breathe._

Shepard chokes in her helmet.

This is not how her story is meant to end. She is the survivor, not the victim.

_‘Alert: oxygen supply breached.’_

Her hands scrabble for the breach on the back of her suit. She feels the air swiftly pulse through her fingers, and she can’t stop it. Panic overloads her system. All around her is the wreckage of her home, the bones of the Normandy standing still in the endless silence of space.

Kaidan is safe. He will look after the crew, the new family she was gifted with.

From the corner of her eye, she can see multiple escape pods, suspended in space; and it feels like dozens of eyes are watching her. Waiting for her to pull off a miracle – but the window for that miracle grows smaller and smaller with every frightened breath.

Joker is safe. Faintly over the comms, she still hears, _“Shepard!_ ”

There is no getting out of this.

_‘Warning: oxygen levels at one percent.’_

She feels life slipping from each limb. A tear leaks from her eye for every memory, every thought.

_Mum and Dad and Anderson –_

She tries to mimic the breathing pattern her Mum instilled into her. It doesn’t work. She sees her family smiling under the Mindoir sky. But then she remembers their corpses, and her fears bubble again. Anderson pats her on the shoulder, giving her a purpose with the Normandy. He will never know how grateful she is for that opportunity.

_– and Kaidan and Joker and Ashley and –_

Kaidan rubs his temples from the pain, and thanks her sweetly when she offers him pain killers. She wishes she told him that she appreciates his quiet company. Joker’s terrible jokes, and how hard it is not to laugh. She should have laughed _more._ Shepard welcomes the thought of seeing Ashley smiling again. She should thank her for being here for her.

_– Tali and Wrex and Liara and –_

Somewhere with the flotilla, stripped of her anxiety, her worth proven, her people proud. They better be proud of Tali. Somewhere on Tuchanka, a mercenary wonders where to start, to uproot the old. Wrex will work it out, as he always does. And on Thessia, reporting her Prothean findings and the threat of the Reapers’ return. They must listen to Liara.

_– Garrus._

A life she hopes she changed. A life she knows won’t burn out. A life she knows will be well lived.

_‘Critical warning: oxygen levels are zero.’_

She breathes in and holds it –

_Can’t… breathe…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In that moment, that expression makes everything fall into place in her head. When, after every horrible she has seen, he ignites joy; when, after all they’d been through, he brings peace.
> 
> When she realises he makes her _feel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in time for N7 Day! :) Hope you're enjoying this fic so far, thank you for reading, and for your kind kudos and comments!

One single breath.

– and exhales.

The first thought that crosses Shepard’s mind is, _Did I just… breathe?_

The next is, _Am I… alive?_

“Wake up, Commander.”

The woman’s voice shatters almost all brain fog, piercing her brain. It almost feels like waking up from surgery; but the only thing Shepard _knows_ she remembers is holding her breath before there were no more breaths to take. The Normandy’s parts, floating in fiery space – and then nothing.

“Shepard, do you hear me? Get out of that bed now – this facility is under attack.”

She touches her face. She feels the touch, the scars on her jaw, the ache. And she feels every breath that follows the first. No matter how much it hurts, she takes the deepest breath in she can, the air rushing into her lungs again – she can’t tell if this is a dream, a nightmare, or reality. There is no joy left in her.

Either way, it has begun. And it began with one single breath.

* * *

“Breathe, Shepard.”

She knows that voice.

It ricochets from across the room and burrows deep into her brain, releasing endorphins she long thought had been buried, but she is surprised nonetheless to feel them. It barrels into her body, echoing in her ribcage and filling her lungs with air, even when she feels like there is none.

She _knows_ that voice.

Archangel’s helmet remains where it was dropped. She stares at the turian across from her, who stares back with the slightest smirk, and she just feels… happy. The mission be damned, she is just happy to see him. To see _someone_ from before, that they are okay, alive, and within reach.

Shepard didn’t know what to expect in this new chapter, but she welcomes the friendly face. She isn’t sure if she’ll tear up with joy or not, that would be awkward around her new Cerberus squadmates. But she knows one thing: she is speechless, voiceless, and he sees her for who she really is.

Garrus extends a hand, “Breathe, Shepard.”

* * *

“Stay with me, breathe.”

Shepard’s voice cracks in a way she didn’t expect. The shatter-pattern is foreign.

She was never anxious before, but death changes things. It alters the person’s fundamentals, how they behave, how they feel. In her old life, she was never anxious, but now she is an anxious mess. Always on edge, tiptoeing between egg shells.

The world is terribly ironic. A role reversal. Garrus earlier, coaxing her to breathe. And now, lying by his form after radioing Joker, the armour on her knees soaking in his blood because of Omega’s mercenaries. She sees him reaching for his rifle, but never quite able to grab it; she grabs it for him and pulls it closer to his hand. She doesn’t know that the future holds good things – she just knows that, right now, Garrus might not make it.

He chokes. She panics, “Stay with me, _breathe!_ ”

* * *

“It’s alright, just breathe.”

It’s soft and quiet, but she hears it behind her nonetheless.

Shepard stares ahead at Kaidan. Whatever happiness she had in seeing another friendly face evaporates underneath his mistrusting gaze. She was so grateful to see him, but just the fact that she’s partnered with Cerberus makes his skin crawl. And no matter what she says, he won’t bend. No matter what she tries, he can’t see past it.

It makes her wonder if Ashley would’ve been able to.

Kaidan’s voice, clipped and strained, fills her ears, “Goodbye, Shepard. And be careful.”

A squadmate she could’ve used; a squadmate she genuinely trusted to watch her back. She understands, but she can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. How many more friendly faces will shift when they see the orange logo on her arm? How many more moments of joy are going to be taken out of her?

Shepard watches Kaidan leave. She never did tell him that she appreciates his quiet company.

Behind her, she is aware that she’s being acutely watched by Miranda’s and Garrus’ hawkish blues. She radios the Normandy SR2, the new home she will make for herself, even if it takes her life. “Joker, send a shuttle to pick us up. I’ve had enough of this colony.”

As they wait, Garrus approaches and bumps shoulders with her. They don’t look at each other, still staring at where Kaidan had been, as though they were trying to commit the particles to memory. But she quietly thanks the galaxy that he still stands beside her, speaking quietly again.

“It’s alright, just breathe.”

* * *

Every breath.

Shepard watches every breath he takes. She counts them from the moment she enters the main battery, with a brandy each hand, one levo and one dextro. Every inhale, every exhale, and the seconds in between. It is surprisingly comforting – just like she surprisingly still finds strength in the turian.

And she needs it.

Shepard respects everyone aboard the new Normandy; but there’s only one person she can trust to be open to. Not that Joker isn’t trustworthy – over time, they seemed to have established a ‘no serious talk’ policy – but with Garrus, she knows she can.

She had to see him tonight after receiving Talitha’s email. Mindoir ghosts travel in dark spaces, but this is one she pulled from the light, and she wanted him to know. It was a welcome piece of good news, a good end after something so horrible. Shepard wishes there were more good endings – most of all for Garrus, who seemed to drag a loose end over his shoulder since they reconnected.

“Why won’t you tell me about the past two years?” she asks, watching his fingers slow over the datapad.

“I can’t.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“I just _can’t_ , alright?” he snaps, and it is unlike him.

Now he is fire and rage where there had been none. The embers that once were there had become a firestorm in her absence. How long until he would burn out?

She won’t let that happen.

He is not ready. Whatever happened in those two years, whatever happened on Omega, he is not ready to discuss. Shepard was never very good with patience in her previous life, just like she was not anxious. But now, with her new breaths, she is anxious – and now, she is patient.

She sips her drink and ignores the burn, saying simply, “When you’re ready, I’ll listen.”

“What happened is… Well, it’s still raw, y’know,” Garrus admits, taking a big swig of turian brandy. “Ashley too – and you, most of all.”

“I wish you were with me at Virmire, on the ground,” Shepard sighs, her fingernails clinking against the glass. She could’ve used his strength, like on Noveria. Her voice catches a bit, “But I’m glad you weren’t onboard when… when I was in the Amada System.”

“I wish I was. I could’ve saved you.”

“No one could’ve saved me.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not _no one,_ ” Garrus replies simply, fixing her with a hard stare.

And like her voice, her breath catches then too, because he is right.

For a moment, she thinks he’s counting her breaths too.

 _Every_ breath.

* * *

A smirk and a breath.

That is what finally caused Shepard to well and truly _fall._

She found solace and peace in the main battery with Garrus – _with Garrus_. A reprieve from the Mindoir ghost that sometimes sought to surface itself; and definitely a break from the horrible memories of choking and scrambling for air and _nothing._

Shepard has always been able to be around Garrus; only now, she finds she needs to be around him.

They’re playing cards on a cleared out space next to his workstation. Poker specifically, after he reconfirmed his understanding of the rules on his omnitool and convinced her that, no, she didn’t need to go easy on him. He suggests maybe next time they invite others, like Jacob and Jack, and Tali especially. 

It’s well past midnight, they’re out of drinks, and she is winning this hand. At least, until she catches a twinkle in his eye, the beginnings of his smirk, and the smallest breath. In that moment, that expression makes everything fall into place in her head. When, after every horrible she has seen, he ignites joy; when, after all they’d been through, he brings peace.

When she realises he makes her _feel._

“What’ve you got, Vakarian?”

“So,” he starts, revealing a straight flush that crushes her three-of-a-kind; and he doesn’t break eye contact, and she thinks her chest might explode, “what do I win?”

Just a goddamn smirk and a breath.

* * *

A shaky breath.

Shepard remembers setting foot on Alchera, alone, and how haunted she felt in the days after.

She remembers finding her old helmet on icy ground, and remembers her final breaths of her previous life trapped within it. She remembers the way her eyes watered as they tracked cross the giant, white printed words on the hull of the original Normandy. How the tears quietly fell for every name tag she collected. And the way her breath shook when she returned to the SR2, and Garrus asking if she was okay, and she could not answer him.

She wonders if it will be the same here.

She wonders if he feels the same grief and weight of loss staring at Sidonis, as she felt walking among the destroyed SR1. Up until now she only saw his fire and rage at the turian who allowed his men’s lives to be collected.

Shepard remembers Garrus’ conviction, _“I appreciate your concern… but I’m not you._ ”

Sidonis shakes his head, his mandible trembling as he speaks to her, “I wake up every night… sick… and sweating. Each of their faces staring at me… accusing me.”

And then in her ear, she hears it: a shaky breath, a moment of doubt in the anger and the storm. Shepard speaks to Garrus, her voice steadfast, “You got to let it go, Garrus. He’s already paying for his crime.”

“He hasn’t paid enough. He still has his life.”

She resists the urge to frown and keeps speaking to him, determined not to let his rage smother Sidonis. She knows Garrus is not her, and she is not him – but she knows he is more than this, more than the fire. That this is not his best self; and while she will always be there no matter what, for their greater mission she needs him to _be_ his best self.

She didn’t realise _how much_ she needs him; and she quietly hopes he needs her too.

And then another tremor in his voice, in his breathing, “My men… they deserved better.”

Sidonis chokes, “Tell Garrus… I guess there’s nothing I can say to make it right…”

Shepard waits for a moment, and then Garrus speaks again, “Just… go. Tell him to go.”

So she does, watching a grateful turian leave her sight; and as she turns to face the other, their eyes locking even from this distance, she lets go of her own shaky breath.

* * *

“You take my breath straight from me.”

Shepard almost fails to hear the soft words even in the recent silence, their foreheads touching. It gives her pause, her chest twisting at the gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder. His hand then rises to her hair, slipping through the ends, inspecting the red threads in quiet, curious awe.

She traces the blue markings across his face with her eyes and asks, “Sorry, what was that?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Garrus answers, flustered and pulling back a little and looking down. She misses their contact, and its disappearance makes her want it more, “I’m bad enough at this.”

Shepard just smiles, taking his hand from her red hair and placing it on her cheek instead. She takes a step forward and says, “It’s alright, I’m just teasing. I want something to go right for once too.”

His ice blue eyes snap back up at her, studying her expression.

She raises her hands and places them on either side of his face, and in a whisper she confesses, “And you take my breath straight from me too.”

* * *

Still breathing.

They’re still breathing after destroying the incomplete Human-Reaper and outrunning the Collectors. Harbinger’s voice echoes in her mind, behind the knowledge of the bomb’s upcoming explosion, as the Normandy pulls away from the Collector Base.

Garrus’ grip on her forearm never lets up, even after the door slams shut behind them. Even as they follow Joker back to the cockpit, who yells at EDI, and Tali exhales sharply, drained. Even as the Normandy speeds away, with the roaring flames racing to catch them in its jaws.

Still holding on, he says to her quietly, “I’ll always be at your six.”

She knows that. She knows that deep in her soul.

The Normandy’s speed increases, and they jump, the explosion lost behind them. The ship rocks when it finally settles; her legs feel a little wobbly, and Garrus still hasn’t let go of her forearm. Maybe he does need her like she needs him.

It is done – and without a single loss.

With Joker and Tali, who high five in the cockpit. With Miranda and Jacob, who exhale like they’re no longer holding the weight of the world. With Mordin and Jack and Grunt and the whole crew, each in their own private moments of joy. Everyone, without a single loss, without a wasted bullet, without a wasted breath.

She’s stared in the face of her own destruction, and she lived _again_ ; and beside her, Garrus slings an arm around her and laughs who’s –

– still breathing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is older and still wide-eyed, with a river of red hair and the stars in her eyes. And there are oceans in his irises, and blue nebulas streaked across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, work got very busy again. Thanks for reading this far - I hope you enjoy this last part! :)

_Breathe softly._

It is something Anderson once said to her.

Anderson, who's behind cover with her, shooting at the coming Reaper forces on their beloved Earth. Anderson, who's sent the distress beacon to the Normandy from a downed gunship. Anderson, who's very presence almost makes Shepard feel safe in a galaxy gone wrong.

And this is not a safe place to stand, no.

Breathe softly so her anxiety can't flare or be detected by opponents. Breathe softly to keep herself calm and in control. Breathe softly because even among distressful times, she deserves peace. Anderson's words. And they always will be.

God, the Skyllian Blitz feels like so long ago now.

The Cannibals keep coming. She thinks of the Batarians and wonders if they had been hit yet.

As Shepard reloads, she briefly shuts her eyes. She has to leave all of this behind. She has to go back to the Citadel and plead for her planet, for help for the homes of billions. She has to stare at them in the face and remind them of all the good she's done, to pull strings like a darling diplomat that she will never be.

But somewhere out there among the stars is the turian who makes her _feel._

Somewhere out there Garrus still breathes with her, fighting hard to prepare Palaven's defences for what he knows is coming. For what Shepard and Anderson couldn't do in time for Earth. She just hopes someone will listen to him – she would.

Joker's voice rips through the comms, a welcome sound amidst the carnage. The Normandy is the most beautiful sight she sees in this destruction. Shepard fires her final shots at the Cannibals and bolts towards the ship, vaulting across the gap, fighting to keep her breathing soft. And she turns to see Anderson still standing there, a small smile fading on his face.

Anderson issues her with one command, "Talk to the Council. Convince them to help us."

A part of her worries this will be their last exchange. It is definitely a likely chance. For a brief moment, Shepard feels like she did two years ago: standing aboard the Normandy, with a quiet Kaidan by her side, but not Anderson. It would be easier if Garrus were here.

Her dog tags fly across the gap and into her hand. _Commander._

They wish each other luck, and the Normandy pulls away as Anderson leaves. From above, Shepard's eyes fixate on a child trying to escape the Reapers – but he fails, and her eyes snap shut, containing a private grief. One day, that could be Garrus too.

She hates this reality.

So she reminds herself, _Breathe softly._

* * *

_Breathe in._

Garrus would have said that to her if he were at her six.

He would have said it quietly, like when they were on Horizon – _it's alright, just breathe._ Now it might've been _take a breath for me,_ possibly; so with shaking hands, she focuses and forces every inhale. Every breath in, count for four, forget to count the rest, but always breathing in.

She breathes with every shot of her sniper rifle, like Garrus suggested once over two years ago, in another lifetime. He's still a better shot – though she will never tell him – but she practiced with Cerberus, and learnt, and she repeatedly shoots Dr Eva Core with more fury than a thresher maw.

It's only when the android crumples to the ground does she lower the gun with shaking hands, darting past it to the unconscious, armoured form beyond it, "Grab that thing. Bring it with us."

Joker's voice urgently cuts in, "Shepard, we've got Reaper signatures in orbit."

Inhale for four, hold for six, exhale for eight.

She quickly scans the Mars horizon and sees them descending, but the Reapers can wait.

She calls Kaidan's name once, twice, but there's no response. For a fleeting, dark moment, she is glad she finally told him that she enjoys his quiet company. She lifts Kaidan onto her shoulders and channels her remaining energy into bolting back to the shuttle where Liara and James wait. She runs to save him, to get the hell away from Mars, but most of all, she runs for the chance to see Garrus again.

What she'd give to see him again.

_Breathe in_ –

* * *

– _and breathe out._

"I'm on it, Shepard. We'll find you the Primarch."

She still knows that voice anywhere.

They stand on Menae together, azure irises clashing with cerulean, throwing unspoken words to each other with their gazes alone. They are mindful of the professional environment around them, but Shepard identifies what he wishes he could express: _relief._

Relief that she survived Earth.

Relief that she stands before him today, that she is not confined to a coffin.

He still makes her _feel_.

In the private seconds, she deliberately, deeply breathes in and then out. Then he copies her, and it makes her smile. Then they do it together, the anxiety in her mind settling like a dying dust cloud, even among the Reaper storm in turian territory. But she is not alone. They breathe in –

– and breathe out.

* * *

They breathe together.

His voice shakes her from her downward spiral, "Don't worry. We'll get through this. We always do."

Her eyes track the neon circles, reds and blues slowly hovering around their own clusters on Garrus' map. Yes, Shepard feels the weight of the war tearing at her insides, and she's sure the turian feels the same. At least he was given some good news about his family.

At least they had a small, quiet moment at the top of the Presidium.

Shepard knows the bond they share is beyond the unyielding trust they've demonstrated for one another. She knows he now runs deep in her veins, pumping through her heart and arteries, the very essence of need. She needs him. She loves him – and said so herself, even if it felt like her words weren't strong enough for him, even though it made him flustered.

But she's goddamn glad that she knows he needs her too. She's glad he checks on her every time, even after his tough call with the Primarch; and still, in her memories, his voice replays, _"Well, don't forget to come up for air. And not just because all these people need you. Because_ I _need you."_

She realises, _There's no me, without you._

Shepard gestures between them, "Breathe together."

* * *

One breath after the other.

They are alone.

The Silver Coast Casino is behind them, and Brooks is gone with the drives, taking them to EDI for further review. Now Shepard and Garrus overlook the Citadel apartment Anderson blessed her with – part of her is still shocked at the gesture.

Wide windows showcase the full beauty of the Citadel. A piano is nestled in the corner, dusty and untouched, but never unnoticed. Shepard wishes they spent more time here. It makes her think about nice, peaceful days after the war she hopes to win, no matter how slim the chances.

Would Garrus stay here with her, though? Does he want that quiet life?

Beside her, she sees his hands curl around the railings; then he starts with a grin, "To borrow a phrase from Vega: you looked smoking in that dress, Shepard. You got some looks."

She rolls her eyes, a grin of her own forming.

"So did I, though the ones directed at me said, 'how did a turian like that get a girl like her?' Hell if I know."

The way his voice shifts at the end gives Shepard some pause. Looking at her apartment over the railing, his usual confidence seeps away from his mandibles, replaced by growing worry. It seems almost as out of place as the necessarily fancy suit he wore for the infiltration.

The absence of his confidence unsettles her, so she scoots closer and settles her fingers atop his on the railing, "Because you're loyal. Because you're fun. Because you're interesting. Because you're special, and brilliant, and unapologetically yourself. You matter to me. Don't forget that, Garrus."

He nods, squeezing her fingers. "I know, I know. I just… Just…"

She wonders what he can't say; but this isn't the time to coax it from him. Instead she flicks her head back at the apartment, "When this is all over, we've got plenty of memories we can make together in this space."

Even though he tries to hide it, Shepard still catches his relieved exhale. His grip tightens.

" _This_ won't end when the war does."

She breathes, then he follows; one breath after the other.

* * *

A hard breath leaves her.

The Silver Coast Casino's bar is nice, but Garrus is nicer.

The clone is dead. Here by the bar, Shepard's brain circles the same few thoughts. Are there other surviving clones? How long until the Crucible is ready? How many more soldiers could they afford to lose? Already too many lives, too many homes have been lost. She'll fight for the damn Batarians, too.

But this is her shore leave, and those thoughts are banished when Garrus shows up in that _stupid suit_ again, pretending that they only just met.

The timbre of his voice has her knees weak, though the bad puns make her smile.

"…and uh. I'm running out of banter here, Shepard," he admits.

"Make it up. Remember, we just met."

She sees him nod and try to smooth himself back into their fake conversation, but then a damning idea flashes across his face, and it unsettles her. The next thing she knows, he's taken her arm and is pulling her towards the dance floor, all grins and _damn him._

His eyes glitter like the oceans of Earth, "It'll be fun."

"Oh, no. No-no-no-no… No!"

Her steps are out of time with his, but he doesn't mind. He mentions taking lessons on the side – since when? Where? Is he secretly dancing around the main battery when no one's looking? Can EDI provide vids of this? Because she needs this in her life and on her omnitool.

Shepard makes an idle threat. It just makes his grin grow; so she deliberately knocks him off balance. Once he rights himself, the look he fixes her with makes her stomach twist, and the corner of her lips twitch upward in a smirk.

But then the mission and the world melts away. Garrus sees this, "Now you're getting it."

Shepard doesn't notice the crowd or Vega watching. For a moment, the Reapers are banished from her mind too. She just flows with him, briefly disconnecting and spinning on her heels and waving him over with her hand.

She is grateful for this piece of peace in the middle of a galactic war.

Garrus doesn't miss the chance to quietly taunt her again, because yes, yes absolutely a girl would fall for that. But, she fell a long time ago. She surfaces the old reach and flexibility commentary with her smirk still firmly plastered on her face.

And effortlessly, he takes the bait, "You know it. And it gets even better when you try it in bed."

Another hard breath leaves her.

* * *

"Breathe in f-for four…"

Shepard jolts awake, her bleary eyes trying to focus on the lights of the clock by the bed. The aquarium's light creeps in from the corner of her vision, illuminating the wall opposite her; and her senses take too long to come back to her.

And then, "Breathe in for four?"

She sits up, runs her fingers through her hair, and asks Garrus, "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough. Going over tactical revisions from the Hierarchy. Another check."

She shuts her eyes for a heartbeat. _Another check._

"Breathe in for four?" he prompts again, turning the chair so that he's facing her on the bed, leaving the datapad forgotten on the table behind him.

"Breathe in for four, hold for six, out for eight," Shepard answers at last, stretching her arms behind her back. Her shoulders rattle and shake when she rolls them, creaking like old Earth windows. She stands and stares into the aquarium, "It's what my Mother used to say, when I was little."

She never told Garrus the details about her Mother, her family, the Batarian raiders – _slavers_ – on Mindoir. It's so far in her memory now, like the distant stars she would gaze up at in her youth. But, she supposes now is as good a time as any, her voice weakening the further she dug into the buried memory, pulling out the stitches for him to see the wound.

He says nothing, sitting in the exact same position, listening with quiet attention as he always has.

She loves, _loves_ that about him.

Shepard thinks to tell him all the reasons she loves him, but she can't form the words.

Her anger at that hits her like a wave, with exhaustion not far behind. She almost wants to cry, but she refuses. The tears she would shed aren't for her Mother or her family, for the ghosts she has already laid to rest. It isn't for the people whose lives are being torn up and taken by the Reapers, because she can't let herself feel that pain, not now on the cusp of battle. No, it's the deep rooted fear that he will never understand the depths of her feelings for him, because she can't find the strength to tell him in full.

"Hey", Garrus starts, shooting to his feet and taking tight hold of her hands; and for a moment her fears are chased back into the dark, "Breathe in for four."

* * *

Ragged breathing.

Shepard hears it before she sees it: the explosion, and her exhale.

Her eyes shoot across the battlefield, passing corpses and fire and bullets, hunting for her six. And when she finds him, when she finds Garrus wounded, she expects her heart to sink, or crack, or squeeze – but it doesn't. No, instead it _flares,_ like the surface of the sun.

Shepard jumps over the destroyed vehicle and rushes to the turian's side, grateful for Kaidan's help in getting him behind cover. She calls for an evac, as Joker's voice fizzles sharply in her air, and then the Normandy's shadow crawls across Earth's ground. She thinks her stomach might knot itself in rebellion.

But he's still breathing, she reminds herself. Although ragged, it is slow and deliberate, almost subconsciously and knowingly trying to slow down her anxious breath too. The weight of his arm across her shoulder, as they cross the field to the waiting Normandy, is one of the last comforts she knows.

"Here… Take him," she says to Kaidan, watching as the biotic gingerly takes the wounded turian. And she is grateful for him, but God knows where she'd be without Garrus.

Garrus, who still argues and bites back. Garrus, who never shows fear, and yet it's stitched across his face. With a ragged breath, he chokes, "We're in this 'til the end."

She is older and still wide-eyed, with a river of red hair and the stars in her eyes. And there are oceans in his irises, and blue nebulas streaked across his face.

Shepard bites the inside of her cheek for a moment and finds the strong words when she didn't think she could. She's reassured by a hand on her cheek, even as it shakes and as he tries to hide his fear, and he says it. He says he loves her too.

It makes it harder to turn away and finish the mission; but easier to fight the whole way through.

In the end, she focuses on, and remembers his ragged breathing.

* * *

_"_ _Breathe for me."_

He knows that's what she would have said, if her lungs still worked.

That's what Shepard would've told Garrus, by his side, gripping his hand so tightly that he wondered if they were cutting off each other's blood circulation. But she's not, and there's no changing that, and he feels _weak._ His subvocals drone on, undetectable to everyone on this damn ship, his own private grief.

If she were here, she would've told him to breathe for her; but she's not here anymore.

_Breathe for me,_ and yet for the turian, there is no air.

No air, and the memories crawling around his mind, like looping vids that are designed to wound him. No air, and her face and voice and resolution immortalised in all civilisation, but they will never see her for _her,_ not like him. No air, and a name in his hands, one the surviving Normandy crew expects him to put on a painful memorial wall.

Expectation is a fucked up thing, and Garrus is _tired;_ but if there's one thing he knows… one thing that her crew has forgotten in their moment of heavy grief… one thing that always holds true…

…is that Shepard _defies_ all expectations.

_Breathe for me,_ he thinks, stepping back still holding the plaque; and he will not give up.

And on the cusp of consciousness, buried in the Citadel's corpse, Shepard splutters and remembers Garrus' voice, as clear as the crack of dawn across a battered, but unbroken Earth; and she knows he will find her.

_"_ _Breathe for me."_

* * *

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank everyone for their kind words and kudos for the little Mass Effect fics I've posted here and there, it really means a lot. I haven't written fanfics for a long time and was nervous about returning to that - but the warmth I've felt from you has just been amazing and means the world. Thank you for your support 🙏


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